


Like Magic

by thesinbin



Series: Ash's Adventures [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Black!Reader - Freeform, Cramps, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-11 21:38:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9033272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesinbin/pseuds/thesinbin
Summary: Ash has some nasty cramps. Steve takes pity on her.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thebearking](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebearking/gifts).



It hit you once, like a ton of bricks, in the middle of your workout. A slight wheeze escaped you, your squat deepening past what you had been prepared to do, before you straightened. You finished the set, downed some painkillers, and moved on to your next task.

Again, you thought balefully, as you dodged a dart. Your hair smoldered before the smoke was extinguished. You wondered if four hours had passed yet.

Dinner left you with no appetite—how were you supposed to eat when your stomach was churning and your gut was dead set on stabbing itself? You poked and prodded at your potatoes before excusing yourself. Your teammates gave your back lingering stares. You ignored the murmurs.

You’d dimmed the lights in your room to a low, soft glow that was easy on the eyes. Your shower, although successful in washing away most of the day’s stresses, did nothing for your back or stomach. Your painkillers weren’t quite cutting it.

As you laid back, eyes tracing imaginary figures on the ceiling, a pillow between your legs, behind your back, the door creaked open softly. Baby blue eyes, clouded with concern, traced your figure. “Hey,” came your favorite voice.

“Hey yourself,” you replied fluidly. The door creaked again as it slid closed. “What brings you here, Steve?” Your captain gave a troubled smile.

“Well,” he said quietly. “I could name a few things.” You raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t eat dinner—and you’ve looked pretty, I dunno—” You waited as Steve collected his thoughts. “You looked uncomfortable? Like you pulled something, and you’ve been pretty grumpy all day.” Your temper threatened to flare, but you battered it down with deep breaths. Steve wasn’t wrong, per se.

“Yeah,” you said. “I’m not really hungry.” Steve made his way over toward your bed, sinking down onto it, bedsprings groaning in protest.

“Are you okay?” Steve asked. “Do you want to talk about it?” You pursed your lips for a moment.

“Cramps.” Steve blinked.

“What?” You cheeks flushed, darkening in the low light.

“Cramps,” you repeated. “I’m having cramps.” Steve paused. “You know, muscle con—”

“I think I know what cramps are,” Steve said smoothly. He remained quiet for a minute. “Lay on your stomach.” You narrowed your eyes suspiciously, but did as he said. “I’m gonna lift your shirt up. Is that okay?” You paused before nodding. Large hands exposed the warm skin of your lower back to cooler air.

“Steve, what are you doin—” Your voice fell into a low groan as firm fingers pressed into the muscle along your spine. A gasp escaped you. Steve’s fingers and palms masterfully attempted to manipulate your muscles, pressing in just the right spots to encourage the tense fibers to release.

Honestly, you thought, this was probably the best thing that had happened to you all day. All week, maybe. Perhaps even all month. “Am I doing okay?” In your voiceless bliss, you merely nodded. Steve smiled slowly.

Upon occasion, his fingers would begin to glide toward the front of your torso, realizing that the ache in your back had been mostly soothed, but your stomach remained a problem. You allowed him to flip you over carefully.

“Whatcha doin’ now?” you asked, watching Steve’s hands settle onto the soft skin of your stomach. Blue eyes glittered warmly at you.

“Well, your stomach hurts, too, right?” You nodded. “So let’s see if I can make it feel any better.” Your lips quirked to one side. A slight adjustment of your hips, and you gave the super soldier an affirming nod.

“Go for it.” Steve didn’t need any further suggestion. His hands kneaded your stomach carefully, searching for segments that were tighter, harder than the rest, and slowly rubbed the tension away with even, slow, gentle pressure. You closed your eyes.

Steve’s hands were rough—his palms and fingers had callouses from all the fights he’d been in, but you found them to be comforting. As you mapped the progress of his hands, you remained oblivious to the soft look that crossed over Steve’s face. He watched your expressions for any sign of discomfort, any desire for him to stop, to leave, but found none. The scowl that had burdened your features earlier had melted away.

He didn’t notice it right away. His hands were still searching, seeking, desiring to eliminate that which pained you. Your slow, even breaths, the gentle rise and fall of your chest, no longer gave any indication of discomfort. Your muscles had all relaxed, fallen into a cloud of sleep and remained there. Steve drew away as he noted you no longer responded to his touch. A slow smile crossed his face again.

Steve stood, adjusting his clothes before gingerly replacing your shirt, and placed a kiss on your forehead. “Night,” he said quietly. He let himself out, silently. There was some work to be done before he could return to your side again.


End file.
